Twisted
by nhsweetcherry
Summary: Head injuries can do weird things to your mind! Gordon whump! One-shot.


_More randomness from my epically random mind. Gordon whump!_

 _I don't own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story._

Gordon was struggling to keep his focus as he drove the Firefly toward the pod, and he grimaced as he reacted too late to steer around a dense clump of scrub brush. The screech of branches against metal set his teeth on edge. Well, after twelve hours fighting a fire at an oil pipeline in the Saudi Arabian desert, he figured he could be excused for scratching the Firefly's paint a little – it had been through far worse, after all.

Someone else clearly thought differently, though. Scott's voice crackled over his radio.

"Gordon, watch where you're going! The Firefly's a valuable piece of equipment – treat it with a little respect!"

"FAB," Gordon muttered. He knew Scott was just annoyed because the oil well's owner had waited so long to call International Rescue, making their job much more difficult and resulting in multiple injuries among the workers, but did Scott really have to take it out on his brother?

"Hey, guys," Virgil broke in. "I think we'd better load up and head out pretty quickly – John just called to say that there's a sandstorm heading our way. We've got about five minutes before it hits."

Gordon winced – a sandstorm meant pounds and pounds of fine dust that would need to be cleaned out of every part of every machine and piece of equipment later. It was truly amazing how the wind-driven sand filtered its way into even the tiniest of gaps.

"All right," Scott said. "Let's get moving, then!" A minute later, the distinctive whine of One's engines sounded as the sleek rocket plane took off. Scott climbed to a couple thousand feet – well out of reach of any dust – and waited there.

Gordon stepped on the gas, feeling the rumble of the Firefly's powerful engine as it strove to move the massive machine just a bit faster over the loose, sandy ground. It still took him three minutes, though, before he was pulling into the pod and blinking at the change in lighting.

The pod door snapped shut and he heard Thunderbird Two settling down overhead. There was a clang as the pod was clamped in place, and then Two's mighty engines roared as Virgil began to lift her off the ground.

"Right, Gordon, better get the Firefly strapped down quickly," Virgil said. "The storm's just about on top of us – whoa!"

Virgil stopped talking as Thunderbird Two suddenly tipped crazily to one side, caught in a fierce gust of wind.

"Hey!" Gordon yelped, feeling the Firefly begin to slide. "Get us level, Virg – the Firefly's not secure yet!"

But no sooner had Virgil wrestled the huge green Thunderbird back to an even keel than it was twisting and bucking once again, sending the Firefly skidding back and forth as if it weighed nothing. Finally, with a resounding clang of metal against metal, the Firefly crashed back against the pod door. As powerful as the pod clamps were, they weren't meant to take so much weight all on one side. Gordon's stomach clenched as he heard a snapping sound and felt a sag in the floor underneath the Firefly.

"Virgil…" he said uneasily.

"Gordon, what's happening down there?" Virgil demanded. "The pod clamps are coming loose!"

"The Firefly slid against the door," Gordon exclaimed.

"Well, get back in the center, or we're going to lose the pod!" Virgil snapped, slightly breathless with the strain of fighting the controls in the high wind.

It was too late, though. With a series of snaps that reverberated through the pod, and a screeching of metal that left Gordon's ears ringing, the whole end of the pod let go.

Accompanied by a sensation in his stomach that made him think that Virgil was probably descending as quickly as possible so the pod wouldn't fall very far, Gordon felt rather than heard the remaining clamps start to give way – and then the Firefly crashed through the pod door as if it was made of paper, and he was hurtling toward the ground in a vehicle that was never meant to fly.

In the split second before the Firefly bounced off a sand dune, one illogical thought cut through the swirl of terror in his mind with crystal clarity: _Scott's going to_ kill _me._ Then everything went dark.

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Scott wasn't sure he'd ever heard Virgil so panicked. His brother's voice came in a torrent of words and rapid breaths over the radio.

"Scott!" he cried. "I lost the pod and Gordon was in it and the Firefly wasn't secured yet and now I can't raise him –"

"Virgil!" Scott snapped, cutting his brother off, unable to understand what he was saying. " _What_ happened? You lost the pod? And something about Gordon?" Unease rippling through his stomach, he flew slowly over the massive sandstorm, watching in vain for the broad green back of his brother's Thunderbird. He knew he shouldn't have taken off before he'd made sure Virgil and Gordon had gotten away from the storm safely…

He heard Virgil take a deep, shaky breath, and that alone told him how bad the situation was – Virgil only got that rattled when a brother was in _serious_ trouble.

"Okay," Virgil said softly, back in control of himself. "The wind caught me right as I was taking off – before Gordon had time to secure the Firefly. I think that Two bucked around so much that the Firefly slid to the end, and the pod clamps couldn't take that much weight all in one place. I got as low as I could; I think I wasn't actually very far off the ground when the Firefly fell out. The pod let loose a few seconds after that."

Scott sucked in a breath. "And Gordon?"

"As far as I know, he was still in the Firefly," Virgil said, his voice shaking slightly. "I haven't been able to raise him on either his wrist comm. or on the Firefly's radio."

"All right," Scott said, a slight shiver the only indication of his own fear. "What's your status now?"

"I'm at a hundred feet, and it's all I can do to keep on an even keel," Virgil told him. "I've got zero visibility, and my scanners can only get a tentative lock on the pod's position. Should I put down anyway, Scott?"

Scott shook his head decisively. "No, that'd be suicidal in those winds. Get up here, and we'll wait the storm out. There's nothing we can do until then."

"FAB," Virgil said reluctantly.

A minute later, Scott saw Two rising out of the swirling cloud of sand, buffeted and tossed around by the ferocity of the winds. Any lighter ship – including Thunderbird One – would not have fared so well.

The huge green Bird flew over to Scott's side and hovered there, settling in to watch and wait.

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When Gordon awoke, the first thing he thought was that his head was going to explode, it hurt so badly. He spent a few minutes with his eyes closed, taking shallow breaths in an effort not to puke. Eventually, the pain began to subside, leaving room for other thoughts.

Panic jolted through him as he remembered the sensation of falling – and as he remembered words that went along with the fear. Someone was trying to kill him. He frowned deeply, trying to remember, but the words echoed in his mind, just out of his reach. Who could possibly want to kill him?

 _Scott._ The name came to him suddenly, and then the rest of the words fell into place: _Scott's going to kill me._ Yes, those were the words he had said as he had fallen.

He opened his eyes and looked around, and decided that whoever Scott was, he had come pretty close to fulfilling his murderous intentions already.

But what if Scott came back to make sure the job was done? Gordon's fingers were already picking away at the harness strapping him to the seat, although his left hand refused to participate. He glanced down at it, and saw that his arm was probably broken. Well, he could take care of that – Virgil always kept plenty of supplies in the First Aid kit.

He stopped to ponder the name Virgil, noticing that it definitely didn't carry the same sense of fear as Scott did. Well, maybe Virgil was an ally, then.

Gordon got himself unbuckled and reached for the First Aid kit, having to turn on an interior light to find it – it was very dark outside, with wind flinging sand against the windshield. He pulled out a splint and a sling, and with some tricky maneuvering, got both properly in place on his arm.

He frowned down at the watch on his wrist. For some reason, he knew that it contained a tracking device, and that Scott could use it to find him. Without a second thought, he pulled the watch off and discarded it – Scott had clearly had all the advantages up until this point, but Gordon wasn't about to make a second attempt on his life so easy!

He'd have to head out into the storm, just in case his mysterious enemy was lurking nearby, waiting for the wind to die down. That shouldn't be a problem, though – the same cubby that held the First Aid kit also contained an emergency pack. He wondered briefly how he knew that, then shrugged it off – at the moment, he was more concerned with survival than with the sense that a whole bunch of important facts had fallen out of his head. He gingerly wiggled the straps of the pack into place, and tore his discarded left sleeve into strips to wrap around his head so he wouldn't breathe in too much dust. Casting around for any other helpful supplies, he found a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, and put those on too.

Reluctant to go into the storm, but unable to shake the feeling that his life would be in even greater peril if he stayed where he was, Gordon shoved the door open and staggered out into the stinging sand.

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"Why in the world would he leave the Firefly?" Virgil asked, picking up a handful of sand and letting it trickle through his fingers as he stared at the damaged machine.

He and Scott had waited for two hours for the storm to die down enough for them to land near the half-buried Firefly.

The loose sand and blazing sun – and their burning worry – made the short distance from their Birds to the Firefly feel more like a mile, but in reality, it was only moments before they were rushing up to the side of the vehicle. It had settled in an upright position at the bottom of a sand dune, and it seemed to have sustained surprisingly little damage, considering what it had been through.

Scott and Virgil had barely spared a glance at the machine, though – their eyes went straight to the open door and the empty cab.

Virgil's vision tunneled, and he found his breaths coming short and fast. "He's gone," he had gasped. "He must've fallen out."

Scott was pale, but he kept his focus razor sharp. "John," he had snapped, "run a scan for Gordon's tracker."

John's response was immediate; Scott had informed that family of the situation, and John had clearly been listening in since then. "Right!" There was a moment's pause. "Hey, that's weird – it says he's right next to you."

Scott stepped up into the cab and emerged a minute later, holding up Gordon's watch, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "Well, here's his watch…but why did he take it off?"

That snapped Virgil out of his initial shock, and he was the first to notice that the emergency pack was missing. That put him and Scott at something of a loss as to what to do next.

"I don't know why he would leave," Scott said. "Or why he would take his watch off. It looks like the cab of the Firefly still had a good seal even after the fall, so it was the safest place for him to be – plus, he had to know we would be coming for him, and that it'd be easiest to find him if he stayed with the Firefly."

Virgil frowned. "The only thing I can think of is that maybe he has a head injury, and was so confused that he just wandered away. But if he's that badly confused, it hardly seems likely that he would have thought to grab the emergency pack."

"Well, the bottom line is that he's out there somewhere – probably hurt – and we need to find him," Scott growled. "Let's get back to the Birds and start looking – he can't have gotten too far in just a couple hours!"

"It'll have to be a visual search – our body temperature scanners won't do any good in the heat of the desert," Virgil pointed out, his feet already carrying him back toward Two.

"I'll help," John interjected. "Maybe I can find something with the satellites!"

"Good," Scott said briefly, picking up the pace as he and Virgil trotted through the sand. "Let's get going – we've got a brother to find!"

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The sun beat down mercilessly, and that on top of his pounding headache made Gordon feel sick and exhausted. He plodded onward, though, determined to put some distance between himself and the bulldozer-like machine he'd found himself in. _The Firefly_ , some mysterious voice seemed to whisper into his mind. He accepted the name readily – a few things had come back to him already, although he still didn't have any sort of a grasp of who he was and what in the world he was doing in the middle of some desert with a murderer pursuing him.

He seemed to know a lot of other random things, though. For example, when the sand dunes transitioned into dry, rocky hills and canyons, he knew that it would be far better to find somewhere to hole up in the shade for the remainder of the day and continue his journey in the cool of the night.

A few minutes later, when he spotted the perfect outcropping of rock that would protect him from the sun's blistering rays, he knew to check for dangerous snakes, spiders and scorpions before crawling underneath.

He took a few sips of water, then curled up, using the pack as a pillow, and almost immediately fell into a deep, sound sleep.

Gordon didn't wake up until well after nightfall, shivering in the cold air. He dragged himself out from under the rocks with a groan, so stiff and sore he could hardly move. He looked around at the desolate, moonlit landscape, feeling very lost and alone, wishing that any one of his brothers was there.

 _Brothers_. He tested that thought, trying to visualize their faces. All he could come up with was the name he had thought of before – Virgil – with a vague, fuzzy picture of a warm smile and dark brown hair. The other brothers stayed hidden in the dark, murky recesses of his mind, refusing to come forward with either names or faces, and after a minute, he gave up – it was making his head hurt worse to try to think about it.

He studied the vast sweep of stars overhead, their familiarity somehow comforting, as if he might find help among them. Well, they could keep him going in any given direction, anyway – the question was, which direction did he want to take? Since he didn't have any clue where he was, did it even matter?

 _Go west, young man._ He shrugged. He didn't think the advice was meant particularly for him, but it wasn't like he had any better ideas. Looking up at the stars, he oriented himself and began hobbling wearily into the west.

Far, far in the distance, he heard the roar of engines, and saw spotlights crisscrossing over the sand dunes. He kept a wary eye on the activity, shivering as the whispering voice in his head told him that it was Scott and Virgil searching for him. He frowned – if Virgil was his brother, why was he helping Scott?

The two aircraft never got too close for comfort, though, and by the time the sun began to peek over the horizon, Gordon had found another rock to hide under. He slept restlessly through the day, waking occasionally with the feeling that his memories were a tidal wave building up, ready to crash down over him – but the wave never broke.

At sunset, he set off again, exhausted, driven onward by some compulsion that he didn't understand, but that he hoped would lead to answers.

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Scott and Virgil scanned the desert for the remainder of the day, their eyes stinging and burning from the brightness of the sun-drenched sand. When night fell, they didn't pause for a minute, but continued searching, using their heat sensors and spotlights. They saw a few hares, foxes, gazelles and even a small herd of camels, but no people.

"It's like he's just disappeared off the map," Virgil muttered more than once. He didn't voice his worst fear – that Gordon had been swallowed up by the sand, and that they would never even find his body.

Finally, at dawn, their father ordered them to take a break, pointing out that, including the oil pipeline fire, they had been up for over thirty hours. He didn't want them making mistakes – or becoming victims themselves – due to exhaustion. Scott and Virgil grumbled a protest, but knew that he was right. They reluctantly set down near the Firefly and slept in their Thunderbirds for a few hours. When they awoke, they used Two's tiny shower and changed into fresh uniforms, then raided their stashes of emergency food.

Somewhat refreshed, they renewed their search as the sun was setting.

Scott had initially decided to keep the search area just a few miles square, fully believing that Gordon had no reason to travel any further away than that – indeed, no one could offer any suggestions as to why Gordon had left the Firefly at all, and they certainly didn't think he would have gone far. But as Virgil worked his way out from the Firefly in gradually widening circles, he kept pushing the boundaries of his search area. He wasn't sure why – perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Gordon had taken the emergency pack, as if he were going on a hike or something.

Eventually he was making a circuit a full twelve miles out from the crash site.

Scott noticed, of course. "Virgil, you're way outside the search area," he snapped.

"Yeah, I know," Virgil replied. "I just keep getting this feeling that I ought to look over here."

"Virg, you really think he could've hiked twelve miles after that crash?" Scott asked gently.

Virgil shrugged. "This is Gordon we're talking about – the kid's like the Energizer Bunny." A beep made him look down at his console. "Hang on – I'm getting a reading on something."

He frowned at the heat signature – it was too big for a hare, and too small for a camel. As he got closer, the red and yellow blob on his screen eventually resolved into a shape that had his heart racing in excitement.

"Scott, it's definitely a person," he said, voice tense. "I'm going down to check it out!"

"All right, but be careful," Scott warned. "I'm on my way now!"

Virgil struggled a bit to find a level area big enough for Two, but in just a minute, he had landed and was hurrying across the rough ground, flashlight in hand, trying not to get his hopes up too high in case he'd just found a lone Bedouin traveler.

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Gordon tensed as the huge green aircraft flew overhead and then slowed down, looking for a place to land. He would have run for a hiding spot, but he knew that Virgil flew this one – it was the other ship that he had to watch out for.

He watched the craft land and a figure come trotting out, swinging a flashlight around. After a moment, the beam latched onto him, and he raised his good hand to shield his eyes. The beam of light glanced away from his face, instead shining on his uniform, which was so torn and dirty that it was hardly recognizable.

"Hello? Is that you, Gordon?" a voice called uncertainly, footsteps gradually drawing nearer.

The voice stirred something deep within Gordon, and he found his feet carrying him forward automatically. "Virgil?" he asked, his own voice rough and unfamiliar in his ears.

"Gordon!" The word caught in Virgil's throat, and then he was suddenly at his brother's side, yammering away. "Are you okay? What happened? Why did you leave the Firefly?" Without giving Gordon a chance to reply, he raised his watch to his lips. "Guys, I found him – he's alive!"

A torrent of words flowed from the watch.

It was too much sound all at once. Suddenly Gordon's head was spinning, and he was vaguely aware of strong arms wrapping around him.

"Hey, it's okay, Gords – I've got you now."

Things faded away for a bit, and when they cleared up again, he found himself lying on a soft mattress in a small, well-lit room – _Thunderbird Two's sick bay_ , his mind supplied helpfully.

A figure was hovering over him, grinning widely. "Hey, Gordon…just hang in there – I'm working on hooking you up to the monitors and getting an IV in."

Gordon's brow crinkled. He was pretty sure, but just to be certain, he asked, "You _are_ Virgil, right?"

The grin faded, deep concern flashing through those brown eyes. "You – you don't know who I am?" Virgil asked, his voice suddenly very soft.

Gordon frowned. "You're my brother, right?"

Virgil gave a shuddering gasp, but quickly schooled his features. "Yeah, Gords, I'm your brother Virgil. You have three other brothers, too. Do you remember any of the rest of us?"

Gordon closed his eyes – his head hurt so badly! "Maybe? Can you tell me their names? I feel like I could remember them if I heard their names."

"Okay…do you remember Alan? Your only younger brother?"

Gordon scrunched his face in concentration, a mental picture of a face floating up from his subconscious. "Blonde, blue eyes, kind of a brat?"

Virgil huffed a short laugh. "Yeah, that's Alan all right. You guys are best buddies, though. I'm the next one older than you, and then John is older than me."

"Ah…he's the one up in the stars," Gordon sighed. "I knew there was some reason the stars seemed friendly."

"Yeah," Virgil said softly, pausing for a second to clear his throat before continuing. "And then there's the ultimate big bro, who'll be here any second – Scott."

Gordon sat bolt upright, panic hitting him full force, as if it had been packaged inside the name like a jack-in-the-box. "Scott?" he repeated. "Quick – you've got to hide me! Scott's after me – he's gonna kill me!" He nearly bowled Virgil over as he leapt from the narrow bed, looking around wildly for somewhere to hide.

"Gordon!" Virgil's arms wrapped around him, keeping him from bolting into the bowels of Two. "Gordon, calm down! What do you mean, Scott is going to kill you? Dude, Scott's your brother! He's not gonna hurt you!" Gently but firmly, he forced Gordon back down onto the bed.

"No, please," Gordon begged. "You have to get me out of here before he finds me!"

Virgil's face was a mask of confusion, his fingers hastily preparing a hypodermic needle. "Gords, why in the world would you think that Scott wants to kill you?"

"How should I know?" Gordon retorted, suddenly angry. If Virgil was his brother, he should be protecting him from Scott, not questioning him. Although if Scott was really his brother too, then this whole thing was just too confusing. "I just know that when I woke up in that Firefly thing, all I remembered was falling and thinking that someone named Scott was going to kill me."

Gordon winced as a needle suddenly poked into his arm. Things began to get hazy again. "Please, Virgil," he whispered. "Just don't let him find me..."

Everything went dark again before he heard Virgil's reply.

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Virgil sat back with a long sigh. The last thing he had wanted to do was sedate Gordon, but he couldn't have his younger brother panicking and running around Two during the flight home.

Hearing movement behind him, he turned to see Scott stepping hesitantly into the room. One look at Scott's stricken expression told him everything he needed to know.

"You heard, then?" he asked, although it was more of a statement than a question. "It's safe to come over – I sedated him."

Scott's eyes were full of pain as he walked over and stood looking down at Gordon. "How could he – why would he think –" Suddenly he closed his eyes as he remembered something. "My last radio contact with him was when I got mad at him for scratching the Firefly's paint on that scrub brush."

Virgil was quick to connect the dots. "So maybe his mind kind of seized on that and took it to the next level." He finished setting up the monitors and began preparing an IV line. "You want to strap him in for me?" he asked.

Scott gently buckled the straps in place so that Gordon wouldn't slide around during the flight. He stared sadly down at his little brother.

Gordon looked terrible – he was filthy, his clothes torn and dirty. He was all scratched up, and bruises covered the side of his face, culminating in a huge lump at the edge of his hairline. Carefully avoiding the goose egg, Scott gently ran a hand through Gordon's matted hair. He wondered if this was to be the last physical contact he had with his little brother for a while.

He brightened as he got an idea. "Hey, maybe if we just don't tell him my name?" he suggested. "We could even make up a new name for me for a while."

Virgil looked doubtful. "Well, we could try, but how long do you think it would be before one of us slipped up? Let's just wait and see how he is when he wakes up – maybe we can talk him around."

Scott snorted. "Talk _Gordon_ around? You know how he is when he's got an idea in his head."

"Get going, Scott," Virgil told him with a sigh. "Right now I just want to get him home and look him over properly."

Scott cast one last glance at Gordon as he left the room, his face worried.

Virgil was worried too. If Gordon's memory didn't improve quickly, how was he going to handle being trapped on an island with the person he thought was trying to murder him?

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Physically, Gordon improved rapidly, with the exception of some swelling in his brain. Jeff had sent scans of Gordon's head to a specialist, who told them that a full recovery was fairly probable, although he had no idea how long it might take for Gordon's memory to return.

"He will get it back eventually, though, right?" Virgil had asked during the vid-comm. interview.

"It's hard to say," the doctor had replied. "In theory, as the swelling goes down, the patient should recover more and more of his memory. On the other hand, if those areas of the brain are out of commission for too long, there's a slim chance that they may never be fully functional again."

All in all, the island residents were not greatly encouraged by the interview, but they were careful not to let Gordon see their worry.

Gordon, on any given day, could be seen trailing around the house and grounds, looking rather lost. He spent quite a few hours at a time just staring out across the ocean, or up into the stars. He responded politely when others spoke to him, although he didn't seem to really know who any of them were. He'd often address one of them in a questioning tone – "Alan, right?" or "You're my dad, huh?"

They carefully hid how much this hurt.

Perhaps the most glaringly obvious indication that Gordon wasn't himself was the fact that he displayed absolutely no interest in the pool. Never mind that his arm was in a cast – he'd had broken bones before, and had shown tremendous skill at getting every part of his body wet other than the limb in question. Now, though, when he looked toward the pool, his eyes held the same slightly puzzled expression with which he regarded nearly everything else in the house.

Scott kept his distance as much as possible. For the first couple days, it was easy, as he and Virgil had flown back to the desert to attempt to repair the Firefly and the pod enough to get them back to the island.

Eventually they finished their repairs and returned, though. Everyone was hopeful that Gordon either wouldn't recognize him, or that he had forgotten his fears. That hope was quickly dashed, however, as soon as Scott stepped from his chute.

Gordon had been sitting on the couch, eyes closed and head leaning back – he still had daily headaches. When Scott and Virgil came in, he looked up – and immediately pressed himself back against the couch, his mouth opening in wordless terror, his eyes fixed on Scott's face. After a moment, he got his feet under him, and with a hoarse, " _No_!", took off like a shot down the hallway.

Scott stood stock still, shoulders drooping.

Virgil grimaced, not sure whether he should go after Gordon or try to comfort Scott. He settled for a compromise, tossing a quick, "Just give him time!" over his shoulder as he hurried to find Gordon.

Gordon had steadfastly refused to put his watch on his right wrist, insisting that Scott would just use it to find him and murder him in his sleep. They didn't want to risk losing Gordon in his confused state, though, so they'd stealthily installed a tracker in his cast. Virgil used the tracker and found Gordon hiding, of all places, in the cockpit of Thunderbird Four. He had to smile grimly at that one – apparently some of Gordon's instincts were still in place.

Gordon stared at him suspiciously as he approached. "If you're really my brother," he said coldly, "why do you hang out with the guy who's trying to kill me?"

Virgil took a deep breath and let it out slowly – he was going to need all of his patience for this conversation. "Gords, I'm telling you, Scott isn't trying to kill you. He was annoyed at you, and you totally misinterpreted that. Scott would _never, ever_ in a million years hurt you. Your head injury is confusing you, so you've just got to trust me on this one."

Gordon stared at him for a long moment, a series of strange expressions crossing his face before his eyes grew shuttered again. "I want to trust you," he muttered. "I feel like I normally trust you. But I just can't –" He broke off, shaking his head as if it hurt. "Just leave me alone, okay? I need to try to think."

Virgil sighed and did as Gordon asked. One of the things the doctor had told them was to avoid pushing Gordon too hard. It was better if things came back naturally and at Gordon's own pace. He just hoped Scott could hold out until then.

The next week was a tense one in the Tracy household. Scott slunk around looking like a kicked puppy, always peeking around corners so he wouldn't accidentally startle Gordon.

He wasn't always successful, and it wasn't uncommon to hear a shout of terror echo through the house, followed by running footsteps as Gordon fled. Scott could then be found standing in the hallway or in the middle of a room, shoulders drooping, his blue eyes dark with misery.

Gradually, Scott began to spend more and more time in seclusion, and by the end of the week, no one was particularly surprised to wake up one morning and learn that Scott was nowhere to be found. He had decided to use up some of his stockpiled vacation time, their father told them, his voice gruff but his eyes full of sympathy.

They had all winced at that – the words "Scott" and "vacation" just didn't sound right together. Somehow they knew that Scott probably wasn't doing anything very relaxing.

Brains took over Five so John could join them on the ground, since they were down two men.

When Gordon saw John face to face, his reaction gave them all a little hope. For the first time, genuine recognition seemed to fill his eyes.

"John," he breathed, without his usual doubtful tone. He walked right up to his older brother and stared into his face.

John's smile was blinding. "Yeah, kiddo," he replied. "How are you doing?"

Gordon shrugged. "I'm all right," he said. "I'm glad you're back from that rusty old tin can."

Everyone watching found their breath suddenly caught in their throats – was Gordon really cracking a joke? Was that really a slight spark of mischief brightening his eyes?

John's smile broadened, even as he countered with the expected response. "Hey, don't go calling my girl names," he retorted, slinging an arm around Gordon's shoulders. "Otherwise I might have to call Four a leaky little lobster trap!"

Gordon frowned, but then his expression became confused again. He shrugged away from John and stood at a little distance, regarding him as if he were suddenly a stranger again. "John, right?" he asked.

John's face fell, but he quickly masked his disappointment with a smile. "That's right, Squirt."

Gordon studied him for another moment, then wandered away.

John looked at the others. "Well, that was weird," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

Alan seemed the most optimistic. "No, that was great!" he exclaimed. "That's the most Gordon-like he's been this entire time!"

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "He actually joked. I never thought I'd miss his jokes, but I have to say that that was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard."

John laughed. "You wouldn't be saying that if he'd insulted Two!"

Virgil's face remained dead serious. "I don't know…at this point, I think I'd put up with just about anything, if only it would bring our Gords back."

Their days settled into a routine, although it didn't feel anything like normal. The house seemed empty without Scott, and with Gordon a mere shadow of his usual exuberant personality. There was a hush in the air, as if the island itself was holding its breath, and people found themselves speaking in quiet tones and creeping from room to room.

Occasionally someone tried dropping Scott's name to check Gordon's reaction – but it was always the same: terror that was painful to watch. Whoever had spoken then had to spend the next ten minutes convincing Gordon that he was safe, that big bad Scott had left the island and wasn't lurking in some hidden room waiting to murder him.

Two more weeks inched past.

Scott called every night to check in, most of the time talking to Jeff. The one time Virgil wandered in during the conversation, he didn't like the discouraged slump in his brother's posture, or the stubble darkening his jaw line. It seemed that Scott's "vacation" consisted of renting a little cabin out in Idaho. He was killing time with a temporary job, spending twelve-hour days clearing brush from fire trails in the forest. As Virgil studied the bags under Scott's eyes, he suspected that even the exhaustion of hard manual labor wasn't helping his older brother get much sleep at night.

"Any change?" Scott asked softly, his voice flat, barely any inflection of hope remaining.

Jeff just shook his head.

Scott signed off a few minutes later, as no one had much to say. He didn't ask how rescues were going– it probably hurt too much to think that he wasn't there with his brothers.

Virgil said goodnight to his father and headed toward his room. He'd been going to bed and arising much earlier than normal lately, a strange kind of exhaustion dragging him down and sapping the creative energy that normally kept him up painting or composing music into the wee hours of the morning.

As he passed a window, he glanced out, and was surprised to see Gordon sitting with his feet dangling into the pool, watching the moon rise over the ocean. He debated going to check on Gordon, but decided that he didn't have the energy to face his brother's blank, confused stare.

He couldn't get the mental picture of the scene at the pool out of his mind as he got ready for bed, though. _That might make a neat painting,_ he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gordon woke up slowly as the sun crept across the room, finally shining directly into his eyes. _And Virgil wonders why I get up so early!_ he thought wryly. He bounced out of bed – time for his morning laps in the pool!

He froze as he reached to pull open his dresser drawer, though, and held up his left arm, utterly bemused. _Um, okay, what did I miss?_

He studied the cast – he'd broken enough bones over the years to recognize that this wasn't a brand new addition to his arm. In fact, it'd probably been on for at least a couple weeks.

Suddenly panicking slightly, he wracked his brains, trying to remember getting the injury, but absolutely nothing came to mind. He paced around the room, absently noticing that it seemed far more neat than usual – and that things weren't where he normally left them.

"Okay," he muttered. "Scott, Virg and I – oil pipeline fire. I was in the Firefly. I remember driving it back to the pod." He winced. "Scotty yelled at me for scratching it all up. There was a sandstorm coming, so I tried to hurry. It came sooner than we expected, though, and Two was acting like one of those killer bronco horses." His eyes widened. " _And_ the Firefly fell out of the pod. Yeah, that would explain the broken arm…but _not_ the fact that it apparently happened a while ago…"

He looked around, wondering if he had been in a coma or something – but if that were the case, surely they would have kept him in the infirmary, and wouldn't his muscles feel all weird and wobbly? He actually felt fine, other than a very slight headache.

Suddenly he grinned – maybe the cast was a prank! But no, that didn't make any sense. First, he was a light sleeper, and he knew none of his brothers would take things to the extreme of drugging him just to pull a prank on him. Second, he'd already decided that the cast wasn't brand new.

He shook his head. Okay, it was time to get some answers. He marched out of his room and down the hall.

He poked his head into Scott's room first, knowing that his oldest brother was the only one of his siblings who regularly rose as early as he did. He frowned – not only was the room empty and painfully neat, but it had the air of someplace that hadn't been occupied for a while. There was definitely a mystery afoot!

Wondering exactly what "afoot" meant, he wandered back out into the hall. He stopped in front of Virgil's door, hesitated, and then steeled himself. Waking up The Sleepy One before midmorning was a dangerous undertaking, but considering that Virgil was probably the one who had put the cast on him, it seemed only logical that he would have some clue as to what was going on.

Gordon barged in, knowing that knocking wouldn't do any good anyway. To his amazement, Virgil's bed was empty too, although unlike Scott's, it had clearly been occupied recently. He glanced over and saw that the bathroom door was closed, explaining where his brother had disappeared, but still – was the whole world as mixed up as he felt like it was?

Virgil came out of the bathroom, and froze when he saw Gordon standing by his bed. "Hey, Gords," he said, an odd note of caution in his voice. "How are you feeling today?"

"Confused," Gordon told him succinctly. "Dude, when did I break my arm? How did we get back here after that sandstorm? Is the Firefly totally busted? What about the pod? And where in the world is Scotty?"

Virgil's face brightened with each question, and after the last one, he let out a whoop of pure joy, grabbing Gordon and swinging him around wildly. "You're back!" he yelled, grabbing Gordon in a bear hug. "I can't believe it – you're finally back!"

Before Gordon could ask "From _where_?", Virgil was seizing him and dragging him through the hallway, pounding on John and Alan's doors, hollering like there was no tomorrow.

John and Alan staggered out of their rooms, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. As soon as they comprehended what Virgil was shouting, though, they joined in the frenzy, hugging Gordon and pounding him on the back, their faces split into wide grins.

The other island residents had been awakened by the commotion too, and came to stand nearby, most of them wrapped in bathrobes, their faces alight with joy.

Finally Gordon managed to make himself heard. "Enough!" he shouted.

The babble subsided.

"Will somebody _please_ tell me what's going on?" he demanded. "What do you mean, I'm back? Where have I been?"

The faces sobered up quite a bit, although there was still a suppressed air of excitement buzzing through the group.

"Well, after a brief foray through the Saudi Arabian desert, you've actually been here for about three weeks," John told him.

"But not really all _here_ , if you get what I mean," Alan put in.

"What, like in a coma or something?" Gordon asked.

"It sounded like you remembered everything up until the Firefly fell out of the pod," Virgil said. "Do you remember anything – anything at all – after that?"

Gordon shook his head numbly, the _three weeks_ bit still sinking in.

His brothers filled him in on how he'd left the Firefly – and his watch – and struck off into the desert. Virgil described finding him, and discovering that he didn't remember who his family was.

Gordon interrupted at that point. "Seriously?" he asked, looking around at the circle of familiar faces. "I didn't know who _any_ of you were?"

"It gets worse," Virgil said grimly. "Your reaction to Scott was especially weird."

They all seemed to hold their breath suddenly, watching him intently.

He frowned. "Yeah, where is he, anyway?"

They looked relieved at his response.

"Idaho," Virgil said dryly. "In self-imposed exile."

That, of course, required more explanation, and it took a while for Gordon to believe what they told him. "I guess I do remember thinking that while I was falling, but I know I didn't mean it _literally_!"

Virgil shrugged. "Your head was pretty messed up."

Alan couldn't resist than one. He smirked. "He means more than usual, of course." He yelped as Gordon grabbed him and tried to give him a noogie, which ended up not working too well because of the cast.

Gordon released Alan. "Well," he said, suddenly serious. "I don't mind being the reason for celebration, but I think Scott should be in on this too. I'd like to fly out to Idaho right away, Dad."

Jeff nodded, his eyes warm with approval. "Virgil will take you. Go ahead as soon as you're ready, boys!"

Gordon and Virgil looked at each other, both prepared to say that they _were_ ready – and then they realized that they were still wearing pajamas. They burst into laughter.

"I'll meet you in the hangar in ten minutes," Virgil said, parting from Gordon with one last hearty slap on the shoulder.

A few hours later, they were hiking up a steep mountain trail; they'd had to park their rental SUV some distance back when they'd run out of road – if the rough track they'd been driving on could even be called a road.

Gordon felt like his lungs were going to explode by the time the cabin came into sight. He paused to catch his breath before going any further. "Dude, did I exercise at all in the last three weeks?" he demanded, wiping the sweat off his brow.

Virgil cast him an amused glance. He was a little winded, but hadn't been affected nearly as much by the climb. "No, you mostly just wandered around like a little lost puppy. And you slept a lot."

Gordon studied the tiny log cabin. "Dude, does this place even have running water?" He shook his head. "When he exiles himself, he really does the job right! Hey, how do you even know he's here right now?"

"It's his day off," Virgil said dryly. "He tried to convince the site manager to let him work every day, but the guy insisted that he take off at least one day every two weeks."

Finally recovered from the hike, Gordon strode up to the door. Virgil hung back a bit, wanting to be able to see Scott's face.

Gordon knocked firmly. He heard movement inside, and then the rough plank door squeaked open.

Scott stood framed in the doorway, his face politely inquisitive for a moment before he recognized who had come to visit. "Gordon?" he gasped, taking an involuntary step backward.

That hurt. Even though Gordon knew that he hadn't meant to cause his brother pain, he couldn't help but feel guilty as he took in Scott's tired blue eyes and weary face. His brother had on jeans and a worn flannel shirt and clearly hadn't shaved in a couple days. His hands were raw and scratched from the work he'd been doing. Okay, it was definitely time to fix this, and he knew what would work far better than any words. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Scott.

Scott responded cautiously at first – almost automatically. Then, with a great, shuddering gasp of pure relief, he fully returned the hug, gripping Gordon so tight it was almost painful. He didn't let go, his breath tickling Gordon's ear as he asked softly, "Are you okay, Gords? Really okay?"

Gordon wiggled loose, still touching Scott, but just far enough back so that they could see each other's faces. He cleared his throat as he noticed that Scott's eyes were suspiciously bright. "Yeah, Scotty, I'm great," he replied. "I woke up this morning, and it was like the past three weeks never happened. They told me what I did, though, and – well, Scott, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

Scott kept his hands on Gordon's upper arms, studying him intently, as if he had thought he would never see him again. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said firmly. "Head trauma can do weird things."

"Still," Gordon chuckled, "I think we ought to consider putting a parachute in the Firefly."

Scott didn't crack a smile. "I'd be all for that," he said.

Gordon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He suspected that this incident would leave Scott intense and quiet for a while. Eventually he and his brothers would break through the wall of worry – John and Virgil with deep discussions, Gordon and Alan with pranks and horseplay. Then Scott would be back to his normal self – at least, until the next time one of them got hurt. Then the cycle would begin again. Ah, life in the crazy Tracy household!

"Well," he said. "The others are all waiting for us. Do you have to give two weeks' notice, or can we take off today?"

Scott smiled then. "I think it'll be okay if we just swing around to talk to the foreman. He'll understand."

Virgil came forward then, sharing a warm glance and a quick, friendly hug with Scott before they all worked together to pack up his meager collection of supplies.

They hiked back down to the SUV and drove by the work site so Scott could talk to the foreman. He was back in just a few minutes.

"Did you get a nice paycheck?" Gordon asked teasingly.

"Nah, I volunteered," Scott said.

Somehow Gordon wasn't surprised.

When they reached the rural landing strip where two Tracy jets were now parked, Virgil took one while Scott and Gordon took the other.

Scott and Gordon didn't talk much on the way back, both worn out from the mental and physical strain of the past weeks. When they were on the final approach to the island, though, Gordon cast Scott a glance and saw that he was smiling.

"Feel good to be going home?" he asked.

"It feels good to be going home with _you_ ," Scott replied. Pain flickered through his eyes briefly. "I had a few times when I wondered if you and I would ever be able to see each other again."

Gordon winced. Even knowing it wouldn't do any good, he opened his mouth to apologize again.

Scott cut him off before the words could come out. "Don't even say it, Gords. It's in the past, and nothing about it was your fault, anyway." Suddenly he grinned. "I'm _totally_ going to tell Brains that we're installing parachutes on all the equipment, though – the Firefly, the Mole, Thunderbird Four –"

Gordon sputtered, "What? Hey! Even though she's called a Thunder _bird_ , she is _not_ meant to fly!"

Scott just laughed and went on listing equipment and machines, clearly enjoying the mental picture of Brains' face as the scientist tried to calculate the size of the parachute needed for each item.

Gordon sat back and let him talk, glad to see him smiling and laughing.

Closely followed by Virgil, they landed, and as they taxied into the hangar, they were met by all the island residents, a happy swarm of faces. As Gordon watched them, he had a moment of disquiet – he couldn't believe that he'd forgotten his own family. Then he shrugged. There was no sense in worrying about it, so he might as well get out there and enjoy every moment!

He leapt from the airplane and exclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen…have we got a treat for you! May I present the one and only Mountain Man, fresh from the forests of Idaho!" He lowered his voice in an aside. "Well, he may not actually be very fresh, since he didn't have any running water in there, but hey! He's the real deal, folks!"

Scott was suddenly at his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, thanks, Gordy," he said dryly.

Everyone crowded around in a happy cacophony of hugs and back slaps. Jeff announced that the grill was hot and waiting for steaks, and so they gradually milled upstairs, all in one chattering group.

They stayed up late that night, reluctant to part ways and go to bed. Surprisingly, Scott was the first to cave, probably as a result of many days of hard work combined with sleepless nights. Virgil, on the other hand, appeared energized, and hurried off a few minutes later with a gleam in his eye that they knew meant he would probably be up painting for several more hours.

Gradually the other island residents drifted away until only Gordon and his father were left sitting by the pool, watching the moon's reflection on its shimmering surface. Gordon got a strange sense of déjà vu, and shivered slightly.

"Are you all right, Gordon?" his father asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Gordon replied softly. He sighed, though. He'd been unable to get one thought out of his head. "Dad, why do you think I forgot the family? I mean, you guys are the most important part of my life. How could I just _forget_ all of you?"

Jeff thought about it for a long moment. "I don't know, Son. The human brain is an intricate and puzzling creation, and I believe that science has barely begun to understand how it works. What I will say is that I never doubted that you would come around eventually. Our family's ties are too strong for a head injury to break permanently."

Gordon smiled, feeling a little better. "Thanks, Dad."

Jeff stood and gently clapped Gordon on the shoulder. "Anytime. Good night, Gordon."

Gordon sat and stared at the pool for a while before he remembered something that Virgil had told him – he hadn't been swimming in all this time! He glanced at his cast doubtfully, then shrugged and ducked into the kitchen. A few minutes later he emerged, cast thoroughly ensconced in plastic wrap.

With a whoop, he cannonballed into the pool. Life was good!


End file.
